


Dii Vahdin

by Anonymous



Series: let there be dragons [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dragonborn Inquisitor, F/F, Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-06
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-07-29 18:45:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7695292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of imagined scenarios between the Inquisitor and Leliana.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dii Vahdin

“Nightingale.”

“Inquisitor.”

“Think you could spare me some of your time?”

Leliana quirks an eyebrow when a runner follows behind with a tray of tea, “How much do you need?”

“Half an hour at most,” and upon opening the door that leads to the balcony outside the rookery, she takes the tray and thanks the runner. “Everyone’s been telling me about how you needed to get some air, you’re starting to scare them.”

“I’m aware.”

The Inquisitor gives a low, hearty laugh that makes the walls tremble, “Of course. But come along, dii vahdin. I have a surprise for you.”

Before long, they’re both outside while the Inquisitor pours them both some tea. Leliana takes hers when the Inquisitor hands her the cup. She is pleasantly surprised when she tastes mint and honey, nestling her drink while she looks beyond the balcony. It’s nice, she thinks. She reminds herself to thank the Inquisitor after.

When she feels the Inquisitor’s eyes settle on her, she turns to discover the soft gaze she is giving her. Leliana feels herself smile a bit.

She turns her head back at the scenery, “If your surprise was the box of chocolates you bought the day before, then I already know.”

“I suppose it was too much to hope you wouldn’t send someone to watch me.” A pang of guilt runs through her a bit before dissipating just as fast when the Inquisitor continues. “Well, at that day at least.”

“Apologies, Herald. But it is for the best.”

The Inquisitor waves off her apology while she sips her tea, a gesture Leliana translates to, _don’t worry about it_.

Shortly after, the Inquisitor produces a box of chocolates from her jacket. It’s rather small, Leliana thinks, but admires the intricate blue ribbon on top.

“I’d rather you waited until after dinner but have a piece if you’d like.”

Leliana scrunches up her nose, “Dinner?”

She hums her affirmative, “Apparently, the Lady Josephine has hired a chef from Val Royeaux. Monsieur Jacques Pepin. I believe you’ve heard of him?”

Leliana is smiling now, she giggles and sighs, leaning against the balustrade. She sets the empty teacup on the tray, before turning her gaze at the Inquisitor.

“You’re lovely.”

The Inquisitor takes one of Leliana's hands with her own, the faint glow of the Anchor lighting the spymaster's gloves. She doesn’t meet her eyes when she speaks, “Hii los brit,” then lets go of the gloved hand.

“I will see you again in the evening, my lady.”

Leliana lets an hour pass by.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dii vahdin - my lady  
> hii los brit - you are beautiful


	2. Once We Were

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Cabot is made witness to the Inquisitor's new life.

Cabot has been eyeing the woman for a while now. It's her fourth bottle of mead and he's surprised the human isn’t already face-flat on his bar.

She's seated at the far right and everyone else seems to be keeping at least two seats away from her. She's pretty tall for a human,  _you'd think she was half_ ox _but what do I know_. And she's dressed far too warm for the weather even if this is Ferelden. Everything about this woman was intimidating and out of place.

He only hopes none of his brutish customers pick a fight with her. Last week's bloodstain still hasn't faded despite how many times he scrubbed the floor. Though at this point, maybe he should leave it instead. This wasn’t the Gnawed Noble and it does well for the kind of his customers. It's a good thing the floorboards were made of cheap wood, too.

The loud thunk of glass on his bar table brought his attention back to her. Her bottle is empty now and she's asking for more, waving him over for another bottle. 

"What’ll you have?"

"Another of this, please."

"You trying to get tanked, human?"

"This is a tavern, isn't it?"

Shrugs. "Looks like the mead isn't doing you any good.”

She's staring at him now, eye to eye and brow raised. He sees the pink flush on her cheeks and the cloud in her gaze. Huh. Maybe another would do the trick.

"Alright, have at it."

He gives her a nod and walks to behind the bar. At the corner of the storage room, he spots the barrel and his personal stash, then grabs a bottle and tankard on his way out.

 _Still awake_. Somewhere underneath the bar top, he produces a cloth and wipes the inside of the tankard, then does the same with the rim. After, he pours the mug a good amount of alcohol, half emptying the bottle before sliding her her drink. "This one's on me. My personal brew and guaranteed to knock your knickers off."

She snorts and rolls her eyes before humoring him with a shitfaced grin, “And if they don’t?”

_Guess she's not so bad._

“Heh. Tell you what, if you think you could talk sense after taking this marvel on, I’ll hear whatever woes you got.”

“And if I do get ‘my knickers knocked off’?”

“Then I kick you out like the rest of you loafers. Can’t have you retching on my floors by daybreak.”

She hums for a moment like she was giving thought before pulling the drink towards her and fiddling with its arm. “Let me camp on your floor and you’ve got a deal.”

“That’s for the next pint, human.”

* * *

The next time Cabot sees her, it's like he's seen a ghost. Here they were, in a three-storey tavern atop a frozen mountain in Maker knows where and he thinks it's the funniest thing that's ever happened. She's dressed up now, still tall and intimidating, but regal.

Highever weave looks good on her. He wants to laugh, really. But for now, he has a friend to catch up with.

“Y'know, first time I’d heard the Inquisitor was you, I couldn't believe it. Last time you were at Denerim, you were headed for the Conclave and that ended up a disaster. Should've known an explosion wouldn't kill you.”

At the sound of his voice, Sephiria snaps her head at his direction before breaking into a brisk pace. Once she's close enough, her smile stretches ear to ear, no doubt relieved and happy to see an old friend amidst the chaos. From what he's heard about Haven, he shares the sentiments.

When she bends over, he opens his arms to receive her, patting her back in kind while she hugs him fiercely.

Her voice is trembling, tinted with laughter as she asks, "Cabot! What are doing here?"

"I could ask you the same." After she releases him, Sephiria's no longer wearing that stern look from a few moments ago.

 _Better_.

"So it's Inquisitor now. When did you get so fancy?"

She slaps his upper arm with a huff, “Long story.”

“My bar’s open for as long as you’re running this place. I think I have time.” Cabot motions for her to sit on one of the stools.

“What, just like that? With none of your special brew to make me fumble?”

Cabot grins, “Even better.” Cabot starts to grab a couple of tankards from behind the bar when Sephiria takes a seat at the far right. Just like old times.

It takes a while before he comes back with a mug and slides it to the Inquisitor’s hands. He then pours another for himself, "Start from the beginning." 

* * *

"Cabot, give me the strongest one you have." Sephiria sighs into her hands, and then winces, "Now."

Those occupying the bar earlier fled the second the Inquisitor stormed her way into the tavern. Those brave enough stayed a moment longer to give their greetings as custom, before scurrying away to avoid eye contact for fear of what she might do. Her gait is stiffer than usual, and with her usual pensive expression replaced with a glare, it was no wonder people were afraid of her.

"Want to talk about it?"

"No. Maybe later. Just... ugh. Get me drunk first."

"I can do that."

And with one last defeated sigh, she gives him her thanks.

It's her sixth bottle and counting. As it turns out, it had been about a fight between her and Solas. There was only so much Cabot could tell from her slurs and slips into dovahzul.

" _Daar_ _mey_ _fahliil_." And a fool, at that. When Sephiria asks for another bottle, she's leaning heavily on her arm, her shoulders slumped and eyes halfway to shutting close.

"C'mon," Cabot grabs a clean towel from under the bar and throws it over his shoulder. "You've had enough to drink."

" _Nid... Tol_ _los_ _nu_ _tiiraaz_." Sephiria then rests her head on her hand, with the bridge of her nose against the base of her palm. Cabot has seen this enough times to know that there was so little he could do to comfort her. He would never understand her pains. The best he could do was offer her what comfort she found in the bottles he served, even if just for a night.

" _Zu'u_ _laan_ _drem_ _... drem._ "

"Let's get you to bed." By the time Cabot turns, a young skinny man with blonde hair and hat is beside him, scaring the dwarf and making him jump. "Ancestors!" _Who the hell is this kid?_

"I am sorry. My name is Cole. We've met. You don't remember but that's okay. I want to help." Cole's footsteps are quiet when he approaches her, tilting his head to try to peek at her face.

" _Empty, drifting... lost_. She used to be so bright until now. The alcohol dimmed the light. I can see her now, yes. Like broken pieces of glass glued together. _Why did it have to be me?_ We can help. We want to."

It's then that a hulking man came into view, a Qunari paid to act as her bodyguard during missions. "I'll carry her." His voice is curiously gentle and quiet compared to his usual roughhousing with the Chargers.

Cabot nods, "I think there was a bed on the third floor."

By morning, Cabot is headed upstairs with a glass of water. It's a routine he's picked up ever since Sephiria had become a sort of regular in his tavern way back when. He supposes he likes it. Ever since leaving Orzammar, he hasn't had anyone to call a friend. And of all people to have been friends with, it's a traveler with an unusual tongue and backstory who found home in the bottles he brewed. It would make a good story, he thinks.

Once he's reached the top floor, the boy from last night was nowhere to be found. He ambles towards the only door there, where Sephiria was still sleeping. When he opens the door, he's met with a surprise again, but one he thinks is more confusing than unusual. Because there stood the Nightingale by Sephiria's bedside and a raven perched on the headrest. Cabot might have thought that they didn't hear him enter if not for the brief glance the woman threw his way.

Choosing to stay still, he watches the woman intently as she hovered over the Inquisitor. Leliana then sweeps at Sephiria's forehead to clear the mess of hair from her face. Shortly then the Nightingale regarded him this time with deathly quiet before saying, "Take care of her." She takes her leave through the other door across the room that led to the battlements while he's left to stare back at Sephiria's sleeping figure.

"You're not so alone after all."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmao. something is off with this chapter but i have no clue on what it is??? feel free to point it out. i think im going blind.
> 
> daar mey fahliil - that foolish elf  
> nid - no  
> tol los nu tiiraaz - i still feel sad (literally "there is still despair")  
> zu'u laan drem - i only want peace (literally "i want peace")


	3. Closer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Prompt 6.](http://trash-by-vouge.tumblr.com/post/132858041745) On a sunny Tuesday afternoon, the late sunlight glowing in your hair.

By the time the Inquisitor’s found her, Leliana is up in her chambers resting on the chaise lounge. And to her surprise, the spymaster is fast asleep, her body still and her breaths deep and even.

She thinks it's the most relaxed she's seen Leliana.

Upon coming around the staircase, the Inquisitor is met with pieces of parchment strewn across her floor. She proceeds to pick them up with small and quiet steps and takes great care not to rustle the leaves lest she wakes the spymaster from her sleep. And when she bends down close to the chaise where the last paper flew from a draft, she leans up to look at Leliana.

The Inquisitor spots the wrinkles at the corners of her mouth and tired eyes, notes the sharp contours of her cheekbones, the thin of her cheeks and pointed jawline. She later notices the light sheen of the lip balm Josephine had given her for the cold.

Sephiria distinctly remembers the ambassador throwing a fit when Leliana's lips cracked then bled from a smile. She had just walked into the office when Josephine was in the middle of fretting over the older woman, her Antivan accent growing thicker as Leliana laughed it off.

> _"Leliana is like the older sister I never had."_ Josephine said, after asking the ambassador the nature of her relationship with Leliana.

She begins to miss home but Tamriel was an ocean away. She chastises herself for not listening to Lydia when the housecarl had insisted on accompanying her when Sephiria had set to travel.

Certain that she picked up the last of the papers, she ambles her way over to her desk, resting her backside on the edge of the table. Skimming through the reports, there were a few odd symbols and wordy ciphers on the margins. And on one of the pages was a doodle of a bird, no doubt by Sera. It would seem Leliana won't be getting back one of her birds. A Ser Cumbersnatch, she reads.

It doesn’t take long until the Inquisitor is brushing against the blotches of ink and scribbles with the index of her fingers. Tries to read what she can. But she stops short once she recognizes the spymaster’s writing, which is a legible cursive of thin and light strokes written in haste.

Back in the chaise, Leliana is still dozing off. The Inquisitor can't help but feel happy that the woman had taken up on her offer to use her chambers should she need some time for herself. Though the rookery is seldom occupied with her spies, the lack of sunlight had bothered the Inquisitor. Immensely so.

> _"It's useless, little bird. There's nothing left for you to protect anymore."_

Never again.

She feels her chest wrestle with guilt. The Inquisitor has seen her share of torture in several dungeons of Skyrim. Victims are strung in chains of iron, left to starve and shiver in the cold with nothing but their underclothes. Relentless beating from guards, unaccounted visits for 'stress relieving.'

And to think Leliana was left to the devices of scum. Left to wilt in a dungeon, levels deep and bereft of sunlight. To hear rumors that she's already been through it. The Inquisitor feels her heart racing, fists clenching tighter, vision succumbing to red, red, red.

 _Never_. _Again_.

But Leliana is here now. Safe and far from brutish thugs and their hands. She's feared and powerful here, with an army of spies at her heed, and friends to protect her. And without a sliver of doubt, the Inquisitor would fight tooth and nail to keep her from harm.

She swallows down the anger, shoves it back to oblivion. It's over. Corypheus is no more.

But the Inquisitor continues to wonder, constantly, through the fit of nights and lazy afternoons, if she could offer more. Wonders if she had the right to reach beyond Leliana's walls high and thick from betrayal, remorse and her adamant will to protect.

Sephiria pulls herself away from her ambitious wants. She will wait. She will be no more than a shoulder to lean on, a company to keep, and a nagging friend to the spymaster, reminding her to sleep and eat, over and over. She only hopes that Leliana at least saw her as a friend if nothing else.

The sun is setting soon when an idea crosses her mind. Grabbing a random tome from one of the several shelves, she neatly stacks the papers underneath it, taking a few steps before kneeling at the spymaster’s feet. The second time she raises her head to look up again, the Inquisitor can’t help but admire the woman's beauty.  

She makes the effort to memorize every detail, burning them into memory so she may suffer for it.

Then, Lel-yahna.

The tones are low, soft yet stirring. In a short while, red lashes flutter before bluish grays and flecks of green widen in surprise. Sephiria places a firm hand on Leliana’s knee to stay her.

Sephiria smiles, “Good evening, Nightingale.”

Leliana locks eyes with her.

“I slept in,” Leliana sighs, slumping against the backrest.

“You’ve earned it.” And more than that.

Sephiria continues to stare at her from the floor. Leliana, unamused, chides at her, “Inquisitor, please get up from there.”

Sephiria laughs but complies, taking a seat beside the younger woman. Knees pointing at Leliana’s direction and a small smile in place. On impulse, she extends a hand to pat the top of Leliana’s hood. Then retracts a bit when she remembers to ask, “Would you mind if I take it off?”

Leliana lifts an eyebrow, then curves her lips into a small smirk in the effort to look coy. “What for?”

“I...” she pauses, looking to behind Leliana and seeing the sun fall, “I wanted to see what you’d look like in the sunset.”

Her spymaster stills for a moment, eyes never leaving her as if trying to gauge the sincerity in her request.

“Alright.”

For her all her bravado, Sephiria is astonished. She half-expected a rejection or maybe a playful diversion the Inquisitor would translate as a 'no.' But she could touch her, or rather some extension of her, and she is flowing with a calm sort of happy.

Lifting one hand, and then another, she gently settles her fingers on the cowl, so gently as if one small mishap would shatter the moment. The material is thick and unexpectedly heavy, the texture a soft leather. Sephiria pushes it down to her shoulders, revealing the short bob of red hair. The strands are now tinged a more orange-red, glowing in the sunlight against a background of polar whites, purple and pink. And the room around them is golden.

Sephiria whispers to Leliana in her ancient tongue, to which Leliana tilts her head in waiting curiosity, gaze never leaving her.

“The _shul_ , sunlight, suits you.”


	4. Lay Down Your Burdens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leliana asks to visit the chantry in Valence.

If anyone had a mind to be frank with the Inquisitor, they would tell her that she visits the rookery more often than she does the others when she makes her rounds to check up on her inner circle.

Reaching the last of the steps to the tower, it takes only a moment until the Inquisitor finds the spymaster in her usual place at the table, right beside the only window in the rookery.

The Inquisitor stands for a moment. Most of the birds have been deployed where only a handful remain, silent in the presence of their mistress.

Sephiria wonders if the busy day had anything to do with the more sombre than usual air, before stepping towards Leliana in a cautious fashion.

Leliana speaks up the moment Sephiria gets within less than a metre of her.

"A letter," she starts, looking down the worn piece of parchment on the table. "From Divine Justinia."

A grim line settles on Sephiria’s lips. "Are you alright?"

Leliana's eyes are distant now, hands clasped together still when she rests them on the table.

"Thank you for the concern, Inquisitor. But I am."

Sephiria lets a moment of silence pass them by, waiting for the spymaster to continue. The air is thick with tension she can't quite understand.

"The letter was written months, perhaps even years ago... to be delivered to me if she died."

"What did the letter say?"

"I am to go to Valence, a small village close to the Waking Sea," Leliana says. "There is something hidden there. Whatever it is, it could very likely benefit the Inquisition and must be kept from falling into the wrong hands. And if..."

Sephiria feels the sudden drop of her chest.

"What?"

"If I'm lucky, she will have instructions for me."

"Leliana," her name almost comes as a whisper that Sephiria manages behind clenched teeth, lips pursed in a barely-there sneer. But no matter how low the Inquisitor tries to keep her voice, the tone is dense with hurt and anger. "When will you learn to let her go?"

Leliana doesn't look at her, nor does she seem inclined to give an answer. Instead, her head remains low, eyes hooded in the shadows of her cowl.

Suddenly, there is a growing need for some fresh air. Maybe a walk around the battlements, and a drink with the Chargers tonight. Sephiria reels in her emotions as best as she can, trying to inject as much calm as possible into her voice. The result is a mix of exhaustion, weariness and sorrow.

"I take it you'll be leaving." The succession of words is clipped and flat.

"Yes," Leliana pauses, clearing the rasp from her throat. "For a while. I can't imagine I'll be away from my post very long."

"I see," another pause. "Does the ambassador know?"

"Not yet."

"I'll inform her then." But before Sephiria could make a full turn, she feels a light tug at the hem of her coat.

"Inquisitor," a long-winded sigh follows. "Sephiria."

Sephiria takes a long hard look at her, finally meeting the woman’s gaze so full of the wrong kind of hope.

"I was hoping you would agree to come with me. Will you at least consider it?"

The smile she gives Leliana is a small one, but one that doesn't quite reach her eyes. "As you say, milady."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ε-(≖д≖﹆) ugh. this was painful to write. prompted after blackwall says how he felt sorry for Leliana, because she was lonely and she only has her work to keep her


	5. i am more

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A week later after Valence, Sephiria goes to see Leliana.

Josephine rarely ever visits the Inquisitor in her chambers and often declines invitations to her quarters for formal discussions unless pressed. So when Josephine announces her presence, head peeking slightly over the railing at the very top of the staircase, Sephiria is pleasantly surprised.

“Ambassador? Can I help you with anything?” Sephiria says, pushing herself out of the chair and walking around her desk.

Josephine crosses the room, her footsteps light and the rustle of her garments barely making a sound.

Sephiria regularly forgets that the ambassador was a bard once. 

“Inquisitor, I apologize for intruding—but I was hoping to speak with you,” she swallows and continues the next line almost meekly, “about Leliana?”

“Is something wrong?”

“Firstly, I must apologize on behalf of Leliana for leaving you alone in Valence. She wasn’t entirely herself that day. She seemed rather distant since she’d arrived at Skyhold—I hope you understand, Inquisitor. She has been under a significant amount of duress since the Conclave and Haven and—”

“Josephine.”

“I—oh! Forgive me... I hadn’t meant to ramble.”

“That’s the third time you’ve apologized in a span of a minute, Ambassador,” Sephiria snorts. 

Josephine casts her a shy smile, head bowing slightly before her fingers began to fiddle with each other.

“I’m glad she has you,” Sephiria resumes. “How... how is she?”

“She’s in better spirits today.” 

“Hm.”

“I’m sure she must miss your company, Inquisitor.”

Sephiria raises an eyebrow, “I— _oh_?” She manages to say before breaking into a wide smile as she laughs under her breath. “You certainly live up to your role, Ambassador.”

Josephine smiles back sweetly, “I do what I can.”

* * *

It’s been more than a week since she last came up the rotunda that Dorian makes a face when she passes him. 

“Oh my, not here for me then?” 

Sephiria throws him a small smile, heart thumping in her chest while she grips the wall at the stairway to the rookery. “Sorry Dorian, but maybe we should get some drinks later?”

She barely sees him roll his eyes, “Oh don’t be so dramatic, Sephiria. But yes, we should.”

When she finally reaches the rookery, Leliana is sitting behind the table directly at the entrance that Sephiria has to catch herself from startling. She pauses at the first step when Leliana’s eyes find hers. 

Maybe this was a bad idea.

“Inquisitor?” Leliana greets and Sephiria has to tear her eyes away and settles instead for the shrine a few ways behind. Her steps are tense, shoulders rigid when she walks over to the spymaster.

Leliana remains seated, eyes looking up to her.

“How have you been?” Sephiria asks.

She watches Leliana’s gaze soften, the corner of her lips curling slightly upwards. But when she speaks, the cadence in her voice is several pitches higher, louder, _happier_. It betrays the calm kind of happy that she’s exuding, and Sephiria is trapped in that moment of her.

“ _Good_ —wonderful! Valence was something of a rebirth for me,” she says. When she stands from her chair, Sephiria follows her out to the balcony. “If you hadn’t been with me, I would’ve killed Natalie. I’d have told you that I didn’t have a choice, but there is _always_ a choice.”

It pulls at Sephiria’s heartstrings when Leliana says the last three words, because it’s a quiet surrender to a truth eluded at every turn before Valence. Because it dies into a whisper when Sephiria sees her eyes crinkle into a smile, staring into the far beyond past the ice-capped mountains, a ghost of a smile tinting her lips.

“I am more than this,” she says in silent declaration. “I am _more_ than what Justinia made me.”

The light in Leliana’s eyes is captivating, and _for the life of her_ , Sephiria can feel herself slipping. She faces away in that moment, lips pressed firmly into a thin line as she holds her breath from bursting into a shudder.

“Inquisitor?”

In the courtyard below them, Sephiria can hear Cullen running drills with the soldiers.

When she turns back to Leliana, she catches the younger woman in a small surprise as Leliana’s eyes widen a fraction for a bit. Sephiria feels her cheeks flush, her eyes glisten with unshed tears as she beams at her yet.

In return, Leliana closes the distance between them, looks at her with brows furrowed and a consoling smirk. “Thank you,” she tells her. The next series of movements is dripping with hesitation, but it is without the lack of intent that Sephiria indulges in. So when Leliana delicately pulls at her waist to wrap an arm around her, Sephiria feels like she’s going to burn up from the growing heat.

Soon enough, she curls her body into her, bringing both her arms around the shorter woman in a barely there embrace. Sephiria brushes Leliana’s cheek with hers, the hood having fallen off her head earlier when Leliana reached up to her to rest her chin on her collar.

“I’m happy for you. Truly,” Sephiria whispers to her before pulling away, smile still in place. But before she could peel her arms off of her, Leliana stays them with three words and a name.

“A little longer, Sephiria.”

Anything for her.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the narrative was a lot sappier than usual?


End file.
